


Use Your Words

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Justified
Genre: Arlo is a terrible parent, Broken Bones, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Art Mullen, Protective Raylan, Raylan needs a hug, TIm doesn't do EmoTIonsss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Raylan Givens is not a man known for his lack of confidence, so the one time anyone sees through his walls, it doesn't end well.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Use Your Words

Art is yelling. 

Not something unusual when Raylan has been raising hell at the office or in the field. The guy never knows when to quit, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when he gets himself into trouble. 

“ ** _How am I supposed to protect the people in this office if you keep endangering yourself at the first sign of a shootout?!”_**

Tim’s head comes up and he looks around to make sure no one else is gawking with him. Usually, he’s not interested in watching Raylan get reamed by the boss, but the blinds are open and Art is getting loud. The man in question stands up, approaching Raylan with veiled fury. 

“ ** _How am I supposed to protect you when you’re off doing dumb shit like you pulled today?!”_ **

That last word is pointed at Raylan with a commanding finger, and to Tim’s surprise, the man flinches. It’s not a big step back by any means, but his hands come up as if to defend himself and his expression is stricken. Tim blinks in confusion. 

Raylan doesn’t back down. Ever. And he certainly doesn’t flinch. 

Art’s eyes fill with a mix of emotions: shock, confusion, realization, and finally, regret. That pointed finger turns into an open hand to reach for his deputy. Raylan gives the slightest shake if his head, backing out of Art’s office until he can turn to his own desk. 

“Raylan, wait.” 

Before anyone can truly react, Raylan has grabbed his coat and hat and he’s out the door. He didn’t run, but it was a fast exit nonetheless. His badge and gun still sit on the desk. 

The chief moves to follow, but Tim gets up. “I’ll go after him.” 

“But -” 

“Boss.” Tim snags his leather jacket and slides it on, knowing it’ll only be worse if Art chases him down. “I’ll get him.” 

The older man looks torn, but he tells Tim to go. The ranger snags his keys and he follows Raylan. While he’s taking the stairs, he runs down the list of places Raylan would go. People would expect him at his apartment. Winona wouldn’t take too kindly to him showing up unannounced at her place. Boyd can’t be trusted, which rules out Ava as well. Arlo would be less than pleased if Raylan eve spoke to him, let alone went to him for sanctuary.

That leaves his aunt Helen, and it’s a two-hour drive up to Harlan. 

At least, Raylan will have time to sort himself out on the way up, and then hopefully Tim will be able to talk to him. Hopefully. Tim isn’t really the talkative sort, but he understands Raylan in a way the majority of the people in the office don’t. 

Tim never thought there would be perks to having an asshole father. 

Since Tim knows where he’s headed, – tracking Raylan’s phone confirmed his path out of town – he allows a couple minutes to pass so the hat-wearing marshal won’t know he’s being followed. 

It’s a small mercy, he supposes. 

******* 

Raylan runs a hand through his unruly hair, growling at himself. _Stupid. Why the hell did I react like that? Not like it’s the first time Art’s been angry._

He scowls, slamming a hand down on his steering wheel. The scenario runs around in his head over and over, like the merry-go-round from hell. Time passes in silence, his internal argument with himself not going well. Raylan overreacted, and he knows it, but he’s not going back there now. 

Not when he’s spooked, and certainly not when he feels like a coward for running away. Slinking back in with his tail between his legs will only draw attention. 

He takes a steadying breath, pulling onto the road that leads up to Helen’s house. Raylan hopes she might be able to help, even if he’s not sure what she’ll be able to help with. It was his problem then, and it’s more so now, but still. She got him away from Harlan. How hard could it be to get him out of his own head? 

Raylan sits in the car, staring at the front door of his aunt’s house with trepidation. 

Sighing, he opens his door and strides to the front of the house. No use in running again now that he’s driven two hours out here just to talk to Helen. 

He knocks twice, pulling the screen door and poking his head in. Calling for Helen, he’s sure to close the door behind him. 

Raylan never sees the belt coming. 

He stumbles, dropping to the floor with a startled shout. The belt lands again before he has a chance to recover and a pained cry tears from his mouth. As soon as the shouting starts, Raylan knows it’s Arlo. He kicks Raylan’s supporting hand out from underneath him, sending the marshal to the floor. 

“Arlo -” 

He’s rewarded for speaking with a kick to his ribs, the breath leaving his lungs. He gasps for air, trying to drag himself up. Raylan starts to get his bearings as the belt buckle snaps against his head. The world loops and Raylan stays down. Arlo bellows about him coming home and destroying what little was left of his life. 

Or something along those lines. The screaming all blends together after a few minutes, and Raylan hangs on the edge of consciousness. His ribs are broken, but there’s nothing he can do to keep it from getting worse. 

There’s a violent crash somewhere nearby, but Raylan doesn’t feel a thing. _Someone is here._

“Raylan!” 

Tim stands in the doorway, his weapon raised and controlled horror on his face. He certainly did not expect to find Arlo standing over his son with a bloodied belt. 

“Back away with your hands up! Drop the belt!” 

Arlo takes one step backwards, not far, but far enough. Tim sidesteps towards his partner, keeping wary eyes on Arlo as he collects the belt. He shakes Raylan’s shoulder only to be met with a stifled yelp of pain. 

“Raylan? You hear me?” 

The downed marshal’s response is sluggish, but Tim’s name comes up, so he takes it as a good sign. 

Tim jerks his weapon up as Arlo shuffles forward a step. “Come any closer, and I will shoot you.” 

“You can try, ranger.” 

It’s an insult, he knows, but Tim won’t take it as a blow to his pride. He won’t take it as anything coming from a man who proves he’s powerful by beating on Raylan. Tim could take Raylan, but he’d never do it to prove a point like this. 

He uses his free hand to reach for his radio, looking away for just a second. 

It’s a second too long. 

The old man grabs something from behind a nearby chair, the motion swift and smooth - too much so for a man his age. Tim just barely throws himself back against the wall to avoid being smacked upside the head, lifting his arm to block the returning swing. He hollers as something in his shoulder cracks, his gun dropping from his hand a few feet away. He’d never even had the chance to fire. 

Raylan jolts, stirring with a cough. 

Arlo stares as he starts to push himself up, a scowl forming on his face. “Boy, you’d think after all these lessons.... This time, maybe I put you down, you’ll stay down, eh?” 

Raylan sways, badly concussed if Tim had to have his guess. 

“Raylan, you shouldn’t be moving.” Tim hisses, reaching to stop him with his good hand. 

Arlo huffs, swinging the bat to knock his son aside – or maybe just away from Tim. Raylan catches himself on his elbow, wheezing. The old man leaves Raylan to focus on the fresh threat before him. Tim clutches his arm to his chest, grabbing the weapon when Arlo swings again. He kicks out at the old man, using his newfound bat to get up. 

Right as he’s about to swing, Raylan shouts. 

“Tim! Down!” 

He drops, grimacing as Raylan fires the gun he dropped earlier. The bullet clips Arlo, enough to bring him down for Tim to get the situation in hand. 

Raylan lays on his back now, gun on the floor beside him. “T-Tim, you all right?” 

“Good.” Tim turns Arlo over, cuffing him with his good hand. “How’re you doing over there, buddy?” 

“Peachy.” 

Tim shakes his head, sitting down beside Raylan on the floor. He drags his phone free from his pocket, grunting as he jostles his bad shoulder. “Dispatch, this is Deputy US Marshal Tim Gutterson. One marshal down, in need of an ambulance at the Arlo Givens residence. Perp is in custody, shot in the arm.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes after he ends the call. 

“You followed me.” Raylan manages. 

Tim shrugs. “You were upset. Art was gonna chase you, but I figured it’d be easier on you if it was me.” 

“I d-…. I didn’t mean to -” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. He’ll probably come to see you in the hospital.” 

“Ah, hell. Don’t need....” He heaves a breath, coughing and pressing a hand to his chest at the same time. “Don’t need a hospital.” 

Tim huffs, tilting his head back against the door frame. “Yes, you do. Stubborn asshole.” 

Raylan laughs, the sound weak but sincere. 

The ranger lets him have the win, gently checking him over. The head wounds from the belt are still bleeding, the left half of his face covered in red. 

The hat-wearing marshal swallows, and Tim would be willing to bet what he’s swallowing is blood. “You k-know,” Raylan says, his voice shaky. “I never got the chance to thank you for showing up.” 

“Considering we just got him settled ten minutes ago, I’d say ‘didn’t get the chance’ is an understatement.” 

The two of them share another laugh, Tim’s quiet and Raylan’s pained. 

Sirens wail in the distance and Raylan lifts his head enough to look at Arlo. The old man sneers at the wall, something in his expression striking him as distracted. It definitely occurs to Raylan as odd, but... it’s Arlo. How willing is he to depend on his definition of odd? 

Raylan doesn’t have the energy to deal with him, so he lets his head drop back onto the floor and tilts it towards Tim. “Ask him if he’s off his meds, would ya’?” 

“Mr. Givens.” Tim drawls. “You been takin’ your pills?” 

“I keep tellin’ you. Frances hides ‘em from me.” 

Raylan sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his palm to his eye. “If you could find those and get him to choke them down, it probably wouldn’t hurt. Or choke on them. Either way.” 

Tim uses the wall to help himself up, treading to the downstairs bathroom and opening the cabinet behind the mirror. The meds with Arlo’s name on them are on the middle shelf in plain sight. “Raylan, your old man is a pain in the ass.” 

He steps through the doorway, pausing just long enough to make sure Raylan is still breathing before crouching down next to Arlo. He pops the cap off the meds with his thumb. 

“You need to take these.” 

“Kiss my ass.” 

Tim gets him sitting upright with a little rough handling and he gets the hard-headed fool to take his pills. He just gets the meds put away when the EMTs roll through the door. They get Raylan on a backboard, carrying him off as Tim strides to catch up. 

He climbs into the ambulance with his partner, his worry spiking a bit as the paramedics list the damages. Raylan tilts his head, eyes tired and dull as he stares at nothing in particular. 

******* 

Tim shouts as they set his shoulder back in place with a sharp snap. For the first time in a while, he accepts the sling without a single complaint. Art would only mother-hen him until he wore it anyway. The doctors give him a mild painkiller and send him on his way. 

Art meets him as he steps into the waiting room, Rachel at his side. His expression twists into something akin to guilt when he sees the sling. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah. Just put my shoulder out, is all.” 

“With what?” Rachel asks, pad and paper out to take his report. 

Tim makes a face. “Baseball bat. Arlo was usin’ a belt on Raylan when I came in, though. He was down on the floor, looked about a breath from passin’ out. Got Arlo to put the belt down and back up a bit, but, apparently, he backed right towards his bat.” 

“Figures.” 

With a grimace, Tim looks to the ER door. “He got me in the shoulder. I dropped my weapon, and then Raylan started movin’ around.” Tim won’t say so, but he knows Raylan did it to protect him. He knows Raylan got up to keep Arlo focused on him. “Got Arlo to knock him towards the gun. I got ahold of the bat, distracted him long enough for Raylan to line up a shot. That’s about it.” 

Art runs a hand over his head, heaving a breath. “This is my fault.” 

“You know he won’t blame you.” 

“We both know if I hadn’t gone off on him, he wouldn’t have walked into that house. And _don’t_... don’t tell me I couldn’t have known what would happen.” 

Tim shifts his gaze to Rachel, a little helpless. 

She doesn’t seem to know what to say either, but she tries. “You were just tryin' to tell him to be careful. You’re always tryin’ to keep him safe.” 

“And in doing so, I not only reminded him of his childhood, but also sent him right back there.” 

The three stand in tense silence after that, letting Art stew in his self-loathing. Clearly, he’s not going to let them change his mind, and even talking to Raylan might not set him straight. Art’s a stubborn man, after all. They just have to be more stubborn. 

Eventually, a doctor tells them they can visit Raylan. He’s supposed to be sedated, but Tim knows the doc is wrong the moment the three of them step inside. 

He leaves them alone. 

Tim leans against the windowsill, Rachel following him as Art approaches the bed. 

“I’m sorry, Raylan.” 

Raylan huffs, his words groggy and slow. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.” 

Art seems surprised. “You should be resting.” 

“Should be doin’ a lot of things.” He lifts a hand to his forehead, feeling the bandages there before relaxing. “Guess I just keep disappointing you, huh?” 

“You don’t.” 

Raylan shakes his head, regretting the motion as his skull buzzes. “Yes, I do. Why the hell else do you think you keep havin’ to yell at me? Every time I turn around, I’m in a shootout, someone getting' gunned down and bringin’ AUSA in all the time.” 

“I’ve started to realize trouble finds you more often than you find it, but.... Raylan, you make it so damn hard to protect you. You drop your badge when you should be holding it, walk into a bad situation when I tell you to stay out of it. Hell, Raylan, you just never do as you’re told.” He puts a hand on Raylan’s shoulder, mindful of putting too much pressure on him. “I can’t protect you if you don’t do as you’re told.” 

The downed marshal clenches his jaw, not backing down. 

Not flinching. 

“I’m just tryin’ to keep people alive. I wait around, who knows how many would be dead and buried by the time I show up.” His voice shakes when he continues, and somehow, Tim knows he thinks Art wants him to quit. “ _I’m just_ _tryin'_ _t' do my job_.” 

It’s the closest to tears any of them have seen him. 

Art takes an unsteady breath. “I know. And you’re very good at it. Just... keep in mind that we’re here for you Raylan. As long as you’re reasonable, we can back you up. Even if you’re not, don’t go it alone. And Raylan?” 

Raylan’s voice is barely a whisper. “What?” 

“For the love of God, don’t decide Boyd is your only option.” 

The hat-wearing marshal nods, closing his eyes out of exhaustion. Art, Tim, and Rachel settle in to let him sleep. Art takes up residence in the chair, pulling it close to the bed. When orderlies come to tell them visiting hours are over, Tim manages to convince her to let them stay. 

By morning, Art and Rachel have to go to work. Tim is ordered to stay behind so Raylan doesn’t wake up alone. He takes the chair. 

Tim won’t tell Art he was staying either way. Raylan defended him as well as he could, and Tim’s not about to leave him without the reassurance of talking to him. 

The man in question groans. “Mornin’.” 

Tim manages a half-hearted smile. “Morning, sleeping beauty. How’re you feelin’?” 

“Like shit.” 

“I’ll bet.” 

Raylan drags in a careful breath. “Ain’t been beat to’ hell like this in.... Well, it’s gotta be at least twenty years. But, those days, I never thought he intended to finish me off. This time? Seemed pretty determined.” 

“He’s a real piece of work, that’s for sure.” 

A scoff answers him. “Piece of somethin’, all right.” 

Raylan doesn’t ask what’s going to happen to Arlo. He knows procedure. He knows they won’t let him be involved because of how close he is to what happened. 

“Thanks.” 

“Huh?” 

Tim leans his good arm on the side of the bed. “You got between me an’ Arlo. I know you were just tryin’ to protect me. Though, I do hope you know I’m completely capable of takin’ care of myself.” 

“Tell you somethin’, Tim?” 

“Sure.” 

The downed marshal sighs. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but we are partners. Bein’ an only child, I don’t know much about siblings, but.... I, uh.... You’re about as close as I’ve ever gotten to a brother. You ask Art, I’m sure he’ll say somethin’ about us bein’ his kids anyway.” 

Family talk. Only one of the few things Tim considers himself to be the terrible at. 

_Well, shit._

“Uh. Thanks.” 

“Take it however you want, Tim. You don’t have to say anything. I don’t want anything from you in return.” Raylan hums, closing his eyes. “Just thought you oughta know.” 

Tim allows that, not wanting to share, but definitely grateful for the acknowledgement. He’ll admit, Raylan is reckless. He doesn’t seem to care about risking his own life at all, which is something Tim likes about him. As long as the work gets done, Raylan will take any number of potentially hazardous risks. 

He may not be able to express his reciprocated care in a verbal fashion, but actions are much easier. 

Fighting against all impulses of his observant nature, he lays his head down on the hospital bed and allows Raylan to watch over him. He can’t say it, but he wants the other man to understand to he trusts him with his life. 

Raylan smiles, silently swearing to look after the young ranger. 

It’s also a kind of promise – the kind that says he’ll take care of himself so he can continue to watch over him. 

After all, that’s what brothers do. 


End file.
